


the leaving of liverpool

by harmonising



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Bisexuality, Character Study, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harmonising/pseuds/harmonising
Summary: It's not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me  / but, my darling, when I think of thee1958. There are no changes to Britain's compulsory military call-ups. John skips town just before his 18th birthday. Paul stays behind, though not for long.
Relationships: George Harrison & Paul McCartney, John Lennon & Stuart Sutcliffe, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Kudos: 10





	the leaving of liverpool

**Author's Note:**

> "I was always thinking I could go to Southern Ireland if it came to it [but] I didn't know what I was going to do there, I hadn't thought that far." (Tune In: Chapter 2, Boys)
> 
> This will be an exploration of a what-if that rarely gets much attention in Beatles history. If Paul McCartney was right in saying that the biggest change for their generation was getting rid of the National Service, then what happens if things had stayed the same? In this story, they still meet in July of 1957, but things take a turn the following year.

_before_

"But did you kill anyone," John would always demand of George, sitting by his feet in the garden. His uncle, reclined peacefully in the sun chair, would laugh every time, his freckled cheeks bright red under the summer sun.

"I worked at a factory, duckie," he would say every time. "Killed a lot of _time_ there, not much else."

And John would laugh, every time, then stretch out and lay down on the soft grass, mirroring the cats, listening to George's voice as he fell into a lazy, peaceful sleep.

_now_

John had never planned for anything in his life. Which was probably why Liela was squinting suspiciously at him.

"What did you lose in Dublin?" she asked, crossing her arms.

John smiled at her. "The roots to me family, Lil," he said. "What _ever_ else could I _possibly_ be looking for?" 

"Trouble," she bit back, but John could tell she was biting down a smile. 

"I'll pay you back," he promised. "Soon as I get a proper job."

Liela laughed at that, which was entirely fair. "What, you planning on marrying an Irish dowager, then?" she asked. 

"And living off the spoils of _her_ land," he agreed.

Liela looked at him some more. Then she sighed, resigned, the way she would do when David was a baby and pestering her for something she was much too exhausted to deny.

"You know Mimi'll have your head off for this, right?" she asked. 

John nodded. "Yeah," he said. "But that'll be no different from any other day, huh." He tried sounding cheerful, but Liela's poking and prodding at his planning only made it clearer for John that he hadn't much of a plan at all. Which was why this _had_ to work. There were no alternatives.

Liela reached out to hold his hand. It was very strange, still, to look down at her when she had spent so many years being taller than him. "All right," she said, voice soft. "But you have to _promise_ to call, and write and--"

John kissed her on the forehead, loud and silly. His chest felt the lightest it had all month. "And send a pigeon, and a smoke signal, yeah, yeah," he nodded. Liela slapped his arm and laughed at him, and it was better than any hug could have been.

"If," John began, picking idly at his guitar. "Well, _suppose_ ," he tried again. Paul stopped playing and stared at John, his eyebrows raised in confused amusement.

"If, and if I _do_ suppose," he said. "What then?"

John had the sudden urge to bite at his nails, tap his feet, do any of the large number of things that Paul always did to get off excess energy. "All _right_ ," he muttered, more to his own benefit than Paul's. "All right, so. Suppose we took the ferry to Dublin" he said. 

Paul nodded. "I'm supposing," he said, smiling indulgently at John.

John nodded back. So Paul got it. Okay, good. The next part would be easier. "Suppose we didn't come back," John said.

Paul blinked at him. So not that much on the same page then. Huh. "In this _supposement_ , have the ferries blown up or something?"

John rolled his eyes, the nerves from five minutes ago completely forgotten when faced with the sheer strength of Paul's obliviousness. "Why would you want to come back?" John prodded.

Paul was unsurprisingly committed to the craft of playing daft. "Why _wouldn't_ I," he said, furrowing his eyebrows.

John sighed. He would have to try something else, then, speak as plainly as possible so Paul wouldn't be able to slither away from his grasp without looking stupid. "How long until you're eighteen?" John tried.

Paul sneered at him. "Why, sir, you needn't take me overseas for _that_ ," he said, batting his eyelashes at John. His knuckles were white from gripping at the neck of the guitar.

John ignored him. "You _know_ what I mean," he said. His guitar was completely forgotten by now, a dead weight on his thighs, so John put it down at the foot of Paul's bed. Less between them, like this, but still more space for him to cross. 

Paul watched John move, perfectly still himself, holding on to his guitar like a shield, clutching it so close to his chest that his shirt wrinkled with the contact. 

"I'm leaving in September," John told him. And he did _not_ make plans, he really didn't, Liela was right to doubt him, but he _wanted_ this one to _work_. "I want you to come with me."


End file.
